


D8 Night: Mafia Edition

by VioletDeep



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, Mafiastuck, cuz thats how... i roll..., or maybe not the 1920s its kinda vague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:56:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6728464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletDeep/pseuds/VioletDeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can see the bright Christmas lights of the club facade beaming in the smoky air. Then, the sound of bad music on worse speakers.  Then, the sound of raucous laughter and friendly arguments.  The joint is hoppin’ tonight, daddy-o.  You wince and tell yourself never to think that phrase again." (A short fic I wrote for the Homestuck End Exchange.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	D8 Night: Mafia Edition

The night air of the city is cold, a bit of smoke in the chill you feel in your throat as you breath it in. There must be some kind of fire nearby. You wonder if it’s one of yours. You doubt it. You certainly didn’t approve any arsons this month. You keep trudging on to the club. Only a block away now.   
It comes to you that maybe you should invest in a car. But there’s no danger in walking tonight. You’re on your own turf, and if anyone messes with you, they know they’re starting a war.

Finally, you can see the bright Christmas lights of the club facade beaming in the smoky air. Then, the sound of bad music on worse speakers. Then, the sound of raucous laughter and friendly arguments. The joint is hoppin’ tonight, daddy-o. You wince and tell yourself never to think that phrase again.  
You push open the front door, the scent of tobacco and beer hitting you in the face like a baseball bat. You keep on walking through the rabble of drinkers and smokers, old lushes hitting on 9-5ers, kids who you know are younger than 21 getting high off the thrill of being here, never breaking your stride, and there you are, standing in front of another damn door to open. You pull this one, and you’re able to relax in the relatively clean air. He doesn’t smoke, thank god.   
The room is tidy, although there are a few papers and knickknacks strewn on the big oak desk. Your partner in crime is seated across from you, facing away from you, obscured by his big-man swivel chair, ostensibly waiting long enough to create appropriate tension. He makes you smile. Then, he swivels around, grinning like a dork.  
“hi, vriska!”

John Egbert is dressed sharp tonight, and he better damn well be. Trademark teal pinstripes, matching tie and pants, black shirt, and you’d bet your bottom dollar he’s wearing shoes so shiny you can see your face in them. He even looks like he’s combed his hair. Impressive. You too have dressed up, in a long blue strapless dress with a healthy amount of lace trim. You washed, conditioned, and straightened your hair for the first time in ages, and you spent half an hour getting your makeup just right. You look sexy, and you feel great and confident. As always. But even more so. You approach the desk, swinging a leg onto it and sitting, your upper body turned to face John. You look at him with a half-smile.

“Hi, John. Ready for our date?”

He nods. “Yeah!” Then he gets up out of his chair, and walks to the other side of his desk. You take his arm and you stroll out of the club together. Luckily, there’s a much nicer restaurant nearby. You have no idea why he set up his office in that dump. Atmosphere, maybe. But your mind has better things to be on right now.  
You walk in comfortable silence with John to the restaurant, holding each other a little closer than usual to keep warm, and because you love him so who the hell cares how close you hold your boyfriend. He holds the door to the fancy two-story Italian grill open for you, bowing his head like a perfect gentleman. You walk in, and an overfriendly maître d’ seats you at a table for two tucked away cozily in the corner. You both order your food and drink, and then face each other.  
You speak first. “So, John... How’s that little project going~?” You pour on the singsong tone of voice, as if you’re coaxing him into giving the answer you know he’ll already give. 

He looks a little turned off. “Uh, Vriska... I thought we weren’t going to talk about... business. On our date.”   
You frown. “Aw, I just wanted to know how progress was going... You can’t keep me in the dark about everything, John!” Your playful melodrama hides a kernel of truth in those emotions. He’s been kinda secretive about this, and it worries you. You’ve been working for months doing reconnaissance, personally weaseling information out of low-level thugs and coughing up the cash to pay off your dirty cop friend. And you’ve been happy to dump everything in his lap so he can soak it in, plant people where they need, make the right deals, put everything into place. And he hasn’t given you a tiny little piece of information on how things are really going. You sometimes wish you had just started up by yourself, but you were only an upper-middle class rich kid, and John was the heir of a state-wide crime family with a decent chunk of the city under its control. But, you suppose it turned out for the best. Instead of seducing and ruining John Egbert, you fell in love with him instead, and now you’re his right-hand gal. But you both know that this, this huge plan you’re working on to run the Megido crew out of town, is your idea.  
John sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Can we please just... later...” Then he looks up at you, his eyes gleaming, and he looks so earnest, a quiet passion burning behind those baby blues. “I want to enjoy this night. I want to be with you. And not the super-smart conniving Vriska that basically runs all of my shit.” He leans in, looking you in the eye. “I want the Vriska that is charming, and caring, and loving and super sexy and the Vriska I fell in love with.” He holds your hand, and you can’t help but tear up a bit. 

“I... guess I have been a little bit uptight lately. I’m sorry for that. I really am.” You squeeze his hand, smiling. “Let’s have fun tonight. Who gives a shit about gang wars and trade deals?” You do. But you care more about being happy for once right now. “Let’s live it up!” 

John grins that goofy grin of his that you love so much. You lean across the table and kiss him. He kisses you back, and make out until you hear the waiter cough politely. It looks like he’s been standing there for a couple minutes with your food. You both blush and stammer out an apology as if you couldn’t have his ass fired in two telephone calls. He doesn’t seem to give two shits and sets out your food and wine. You and John chow down, having pleasant conversation for the first time in a month, joking about the latest pictures to come out and how dumb Fred Astaire is and giggling as the in-house violinist misses a note. You remark on how good the food here is to him, and he says he thinks that it could be better, and everything is just fine.

Soon, you walk out of the restaurant, having given the waiter a ridiculously large tip, and you’re a little drunk on wine. You hold him close, closer than is necessary, walking in lockstep to the nearest theater where you see the latest Menjou flick. He chomps on popcorn while you’re still pretty full from the bowl of pasta you ate. You reach into his lap to playfully steal a few pieces, and he makes eye contact, lightly slapping your hand away, and you both laugh so hard that you get booted out of the theater.

At the end of the night, after a lot of boozing and club-hopping, you both catch a cab to his place. He unlocks the door to his apartment suite and holds the door, as always. You walk in and kick off your heels, almost running to his bedroom so you can finally lay down and relax. You wrap yourself up in his silk covers that smell so much like him, and he soon joins you. You fall asleep with him in your arms, and you are so damn happy to have this man of yours.


End file.
